Stretching back to the beginning,
Blunders repeated, wonders repealed.
The span of time prolapsed, drooping,
The clock-needles stuck with menopause,
Recapturing turning points, recreating blindness.
No beginning, no end, an incredible journey,
The hunters and the hunted, both carnivores,
Hunter’s magic, my daily divine psoriasis.
Some stars beyond the grave so twinkling,
Like mummification of long-cherrished dreams,
A rib cut from my chest, like a nib out of a quill,
A Royal cut, a mouth with many tongues.
The grasstips in the promised land,
Often tiresome with premenstrual syndrome,
No prophesies, no miracles, dry dunes ahead.
By VITHURA. V. ASOK.
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